


a little longer than expected

by crystalcities



Series: Wout + Mathieu [4]
Category: Cycling RPF
Genre: Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Rivalry, Road Trips, bike racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalcities/pseuds/crystalcities
Summary: 20 November 2016: Wout and Mathieu goes on a bike ride across Belgium.





	a little longer than expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liefde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liefde/gifts).



> The 2016 Koksijde World Cup was canceled due to high winds. Mathieu was [incredibly](https://twitter.com/mathieuvdpoel/status/800266743461490688) [upset](https://twitter.com/mathieuvdpoel/status/800266104040030208) about it, and he rode back home with his brother David. It got widely reported at least in English cycling media but other than the terrible weather I kinda don’t understand why a 200km ride is newsworthy? Haha.
> 
> After 3 years, I wrote another CX fic that almost nobody cares about, what am I doing with my life? Title from Mathieu’s Strava.

Flandriens liked to think they’re hard men, but even they had limits and with heavy storms and 90kph winds, the Koksijde race was canceled. Wout was about to pack up and go home when he noticed Mathieu, kitted up and grabbing his bike off the stand.

“Mathieu! Where are you going? The race is canceled,” Wout called in his general direction.

Mathieu hopped on his bike, graceful as ever even in the wind that’s blowing everything sideways, and rode up to Wout.

“They shouldn’t have canceled the race,” he said, looking upset. “The winds are supposed to die down in the afternoon when the race actually starts. There’s no reason to cancel.”

There’s a loud crash at this point as a strong gust picked up a tent, flipping it over the top of a truck, bikes falling over everywhere and one of the poles flying and almost hitting a mechanic.

Wout sighed. “I’m disappointed too but I think the organizers made the right decision, for safety.” He still didn’t know why Mathieu was looking race-ready.

“Haven’t you been looking forward to this race? Don’t you want to find out who’s going to come out on top this year?” Mathieu said. Wout was taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. Sven Nys won here last year, his last victory before retirement. Wout and Mathieu rounded out the podium in second and third. During pre-season Nys had claimed that Mathieu was on a level below Wout and needed some luck, and Mathieu had been desperate to prove him wrong.

“Come on, ride with me,” Mathieu continued.

“What? Where?”

“Let’s ride home. I don’t want to go by car,” Mathieu said plainly.

Wout could never say no to Mathieu, despite the sheets of rain, despite the howling gale, not when this was the first time since the cyclocross season began that they might spend time outside of a race. Well... semi-outside of a race. He’s traveling in the same direction anyways, and he’s sure he could convince a teammate to take his car back.

* * *

They rode hard through the storm. Mathieu was restless with unspent energy, and he directed it towards the road. Wout offered to trade pulls when the headwind was particularly vicious, but Mathieu refused every time. Wout settled for just sitting on Mathieu’s wheel. He thought a few times that Mathieu was trying hard to drop him, and maybe it could have worked had there been no wind.

90km later they’re in Ghent, completely lost.

The route they plotted on Mathieu’s GPS took them down winding alleyways, narrow cobbled roads full of pedestrians and traffic, and most annoyingly up and down stairs, without making much progress through the city. They kept stopping and looking up directions on their phones, and Mathieu was getting more and more irritated.

They turned into an alley that dead-ended in a building. The GPS showed a straight line through the wall. Mathieu threw off his glasses and screamed in frustration. He dropped his bike, sat down and put his head between his knees with a groan, shivering.

“Mathieu,” Wout sat next to him, angling his body towards Mathieu slightly. Mathieu immediately leaned into him, wrapping his arms around and Wout held him close, for the first time since they said goodbye a few months ago.

“The GPS is garbage,” Mathieu mumbled. “It’s cold,” he paused for a beat, then quieter: “I miss you and I hate it.”

“I miss you too,” Wout replied. Mathieu pulled back a little, dripping wet, looking at him with those blue eyes, and he seemed so lost and so vulnerable for a moment. Wout dipped his head and kissed him, his hands coming up to cradle Mathieu’s face so they’re aligned properly. Mathieu sighed into it, tension leaving his body, and they enjoyed the kiss for a few minutes.

“Want to get some frites and a drink before we keep going?” Wout asked when they broke apart.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

* * *

They sat at a café eating fries with mayo, and having a drink or two. The rainbow stripes and tricolor were conspicuous, but the woman who ran the café set them up at a quiet table in the back. She gave them some towels to dry themselves off with, laughed at their plan of riding home in the inclement weather, and insisted on picking up their tab. They would have left cash, but they didn’t have any. Mathieu tried to sneak out to get some, but the owner caught him and made them sign some caps she had displayed on the walls instead. They draped their jerseys over the radiator and waited for them to dry. They talked about anything except for racing. How was Spain? Did you get a new car? Have you been to that new coffee shop in Antwerp?

They rode out of Ghent at a more leisurely pace, riding side by side once they got out of the city and the road widened. They decided to take a longer route, following the Scheldt, stopping every so often to look at the view and kiss and touch when nobody’s around. The rain stopped and the wind blew at their back now, and they flew along the water.

Before sunset they arrived just outside Antwerp. Once they enter the city, their path would diverge, Mathieu going north and Wout continuing east. They embraced there for a long while, both wanted this afternoon to last forever. Neither had lights and the fading daylight put a hard limit on how long they could linger.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Mathieu asked, when they finally had to separate. He tried to sound casual, but a glimmer of something still bled through.

“Umm, I’m supposed to be taking a rest day...” Wout gestured vaguely.

“I’m supposed to take a rest day too. I could come to you and we could go for an easy spin, stop for a slice of pie at that café in Antwerp?”

“I’ll have to check what my coach says. Text you tomorrow morning?”

“Deal. See you tomorrow,” Mathieu smiled, kissing Wout again, once on the lips and once on the corner of his mouth, and hopped back on his bike. Wout watched him disappear into the city, his silhouette glowing in orange in the dusk. He touched his lips and felt the warmth there.

* * *

Later that night Wout lay in bed and thought about Mathieu’s confession in that dead-end alleyway. _I miss you, and I hate it._ That simple statement reverberated in Wout’s mind. He’d developed so much affection for Mathieu. He thought about him all the time, and had done so for a long time now, although it used to be that he would just obsess about him as a rival, and now he also thought about him as a full person, as part of whatever this relationship was, about the fleeting times they’ve spent together, how their lives might work together, if they had a chance.

He loved Mathieu, loved his intensity, loved the way talent overflowed from him, loved how he seemed to always just do whatever he wanted, having fun, and excelled at everything, but he’s envious too. Mathieu raced all over the world in the spring, first on the mountain bike then the road, then got injured and was forced to lay off in the summer, right in the middle of preparation for the cyclocross season. Once he’s recovered he’s somehow immediately back in peak form, racing imprudently as he always did, winning almost every weekend. His risk-taking previously cost him some races, and now his skills’d developed to match his instincts. In the meantime Wout trained hard and methodically, but he still didn’t have the edge over Mathieu on the line. He’s leading the series, but only because Mathieu missed the first races of the season. Wout thought about his season plan, knew that the rainbow stripes was what Mathieu wanted back the most, and he’d do everything to not give it up.

He could never say no to Mathieu, except when it’s about racing, and he knew that’s the way Mathieu wanted it too. He hated that they’d chosen the same discipline and ended up top of the field, even though that discipline was what brought them together in the first place. When there’s only a single prize they’d always be fighting each other.

Maybe some day when they’d stop racing, or maybe when/if Wout’d chosen to race the road full time, and when/if Mathieu’d chosen to race the mountain bike full time, they could have a reconciliation, permanently, instead of these stolen months and afternoons, suspended in time.

He’d probably see Mathieu again tomorrow. Mathieu would probably take his car, they’d go on an easy ride, both of them holding their cards close to their chests. They’d drive somewhere secluded and pretty afterwards, and Mathieu would let Wout have him however he wanted. Then they’d not talk to or see each other until they line up the next weekend, the ebb and flow of their passion teetering in balance.


End file.
